


Summer Snowballs

by Thattimeagain



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Childhood, Childhood Memories, Family Bonding, Family Fluff, Fluff, Nostalgia, Pre-Canon, Snowball Fight, Stark Sisters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:08:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24051106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thattimeagain/pseuds/Thattimeagain
Summary: "She remembered a summer's snow in Winterfell when Arya and Bran had ambushed her as she emerged from the keep one morning. They'd each had a dozen snowballs to hand, and she'd had none. Bran had been perched on the roof of the covered bridge, out of reach, but Sansa had chased Arya through the stables and around the kitchen until both of them were breathless. She might even have caught her, but she'd slipped on some ice. Her sister came back to see if she was hurt. When she said she wasn't, Arya hit her in the face with another snowball, but Sansa grabbed her leg and pulled her down and was rubbing snow in her hair when Jory came along and pulled them apart, laughing."- A Storm of Swords (Chapter 80, Sansa VII)Sisters fight, but their love is still strong. Sometimes it is during a (snowball) fight where that love is the most obvious. Sansa and Arya have to work together, after fighting against each other, to avoid their Mother's scolding of her two most unladylike daughters.
Relationships: Arya Stark & Sansa Stark
Kudos: 4





	Summer Snowballs

Two very cold and very guilty looking girls walked through the halls of the Great Keep, a trail of melted snow following them, betraying their clumsy attempt at espionage. For it seems hiding, giggling in dim, child size alcoves and eagerly peeking around corners was not enough to evade their Lady Mother’s disapproving gaze. 

According to Arya, it was all Sansa’s fault they got caught, she had been complaining loudly about the snow down her dress; according to Sansa, it was all Arya’s fault they fought in the first place, no doubt she recruited Bran for his knowledge of the castle and together they found the perfect place to surprise her. The pair had returned to acting as quarrelling sisters, yet their barely concealed grins and Ned’s rare guffaw made Catelyn Stark’s heart burst at the sight of her shivering daughters. 

“Arya-” 

“Sansa fell in the snow! I laughed.” Arya interrupted her sister, then paused and looked down at her own wet clothing “...then I fell too. We’re off to get changed.”

“Sansa, is that true?” Catelyn asked, her head cocked and eyebrows raised.

“Yes, Mother, we slipped. And it’s unladylike to interrupt, Arya.”

Sansa felt slight exhilaration from lying, being a naughty child for once. For it could not be said that Sansa’s desire to be a proper Lady had entirely prevented rule-breaking. Even before she had been pelted with crisp summer snowballs, Sansa had been planning a small rebellion. For she hadn’t been heading to the Sept to pray, as she had sold Septa Mordane, but to the Godswood to sing. 

Her morning lessons had focussed on her duty (Family, Duty, Honour) and how a lady must sometimes do what she doesn't want to, for her husband and her people. Such talk had made Sansa long for Florian and the Prince of Dragonflies. For a handsome knight who would love her with his whole heart and let her do as she pleased. Sansa had given in to her desires all too easily and she asked Septa Mordane to be excused to pray. It seemed so scandalous, to run away from talk of the future to dream of the past.

Except, Sansa was quickly reminded that even her worst behaviour pales in comparison to her siblings’. Arya and Bran had ambushed her as soon as she stepped foot outside, each with a dozen pre-made snowballs to hand. Direct hit after hit meant that her carefully plaited hair became increasingly dishevelled and more and more snow slipped into her gown. 

Lady Sansa was chilled to her dainty bones, but was determined to show-off her new attitude. So while Bran was safely perched on the bridge, Arya had chosen a risky position in the vanguard and once she ran out of ammunition Sansa’s longer legs proved an advantage. They ran towards the stables, the smaller sister clearly believing the bustle of people and horses would give her time to reload. A sensible plan, if it had not also allowed Sansa to make her own firm snowballs, the two girls eyeballing each other as they did so. 

The people of Winterfell paused to watch and listen to the shrieks of the oblivious sisters, making many a Northerners’ place of work a playground (or perhaps a battleground). Yet, their amused respite did not last long and the chase continued. The two wolves circled the kitchen, past an open window bursting with the warmth of the open cooking flames. The smell of rosemary chicken and the burning embers it roasted on momentarily distracting the elder pup from her pursuit, her prey switching from her wild sister to her rumbling belly. She slipped on a small patch of unsalted black ice, bruising her behind. A sulking Sansa, aware she was already soaked through and would never catch Arya now, dramatically lay in the perilous ice, groaning until the smaller wolf returned, a paw hid behind her back.

“You’re okay? Mother will kill me if you’re dead. Then she’ll have no daughters and hate us both!” 

Sansa gently nodded in response, unsuccessfully trying to gain her sister’s sympathy, instead she received a final blow to the face. She sighed, as if left with no choice and grabbed Arya’s leg, yanking her down with a soft thud. Sansa was in the midst of straddling her sister and rubbing snow into her hair when strong arms pulled them apart and the sound of laughter filled her ears. Jory stood where she had just lain, clearly amused at the sight in front of him and Sansa became conscious of how unbecoming she must look.

Her soft grey dress now a patchy, wet storm cloud and the warm wool now heavy with water. Her auburn locks had come completely loose, the ribbon she had traded Jeyne for was now lost. Lady Sansa now looked as wild as young Arya. And in front of the kitchen servants too. She was suddenly as frozen as the ground below her feet and blushing profusely. Thankfully, Arya had no such qualms of decency and took her sister’s hand to flee once more, back towards the keep, giggling the whole way.

Just how loud the screams and yelps of their battle had been were only registered after Sansa had already agreed with Arya’s tale. To make matters worse, Jory then rounded the corner, still chuckling quietly to himself when he saw the family. The sisters’ eyes widened, their freedom for the next week melting with the snow.

“May we be excused?” Sansa asked, panicked and dipping into a poor curtsey that Arya would be proud of.

“Nice try, girls, we do have windows.” Ned reprimanded before nodding to his wife “I’m to visit the smith, you deal with this.”

Dread washed over Sansa and she was reminded why her misbehaviour does not extend past her secret daydreams of pretty knights. Though she may marry a knight someday, so even that is not so untoward. No matter their Father’s amusement as he passed Jory or how jovial their Mother’s Tully eyes looked staring down at them, Sansa knew they were in trouble. Sansa hates being in trouble. Arya’s the boyish one, so perhaps she would take the worst of it. 

“They were playing in the snow, m’lady, I just had to pull Lady Sansa off her sister, getting Lady Arya’s hair all wet she was. Creating entertainment sure, but lots of havoc too.” 

Jory had betrayed them and Sansa couldn’t even blame Arya. Bursting into tears, she ran forward and hugged Catelyn tightly.

“I’m so-orry Mother, we were just playing. I’ll get dressed up prop-operly and… and I’ll behave for the rest of my life. Forever and ever and ever! I promise!” She managed in between sobs, grasping at the back of her mother’s blue gown in fear.

“Tattletale.” Arya mumbled.

“Arya!” Catelyn scolded as she loosened Sansa’s grip, so she could look at both children “I don’t appreciate either of you lying to me, I will not forget that. However, if this means you two get along again, it will save us all a lot of trouble.”

“Only if Sansa plays with me.”

“Only if Arya acts nicer.” 

The sisters spoke at the same time, glaring at each other, as if provoking a reaction. But the only response they receive is their mother sighing, with a small smirk at her lips. Of course, that would be too good to be true. Catelyn sends them to get warmed up, while she ponders what to do with those daughters of hers. If they can cause that much trouble with the whole of Winterfell to avoid each other, only the Gods know what would happen if she tried locking them in a room until they made up. At least they’d be drier.

**Author's Note:**

> Writing doesn't come very easily to me, so thank you to anyone who made it this far. I challenged myself to write a fic that was over a thousand words long and considering how awful the Stark's lives get, I decided to expand on a rare happy memory from the books. It's a start and I hope you enjoyed :)


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